


Personal Space

by Maayacola



Category: Johnny's Entertainment, KAT-TUN (Band)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-13
Updated: 2012-12-13
Packaged: 2017-11-21 01:47:33
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,070
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/592061
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maayacola/pseuds/Maayacola
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kame wonders how things have gotten so tense that even <i>Jin</i> wants to talk about them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Personal Space

*

Curry bowls are stacked on Kame’s coffee table, the oversized spoons Jin always picks out crossed over each other in the top bowl, and behind that a movie is playing at medium volume on the television.

Normally Kame would have gotten up to do the dishes, because even though Kame cooked, Jin hates to do the dishes, but something tells him that if he moves, Jin will leave. 

Jin had come over at four, and now it is eight, and Kame wonders how things have gotten so tense that even _Jin_ wants to talk about them.

“I don’t know what I’m doing wrong,” Jin says, and he’s sitting on the other side of the couch, curled up into himself in a way that makes him look like he’s trying to hold himself together. His hair, fluffy and wavy, peeks out from the unfolded large neck of his sweater, and his face is turned into it, so all Kame can see are the frames of Jin’s glasses. “I just don’t understand why our friendship doesn’t work.”

“You don’t even live here in Japan anymore,” Kame says, and he works hard to keep the bitterness out of his voice. “You come and go, and when you do come, you’re booked solid. It takes time and effort to be friends with someone. You don’t have that.”

“I have that for you,” Jin says. “I’m here now.”

“You are,” Kame agrees, and he lets his fingers explore the texture of his leather sofa, wandering up the seams as he considers what to say. 

“And yet here we are,” Jin says. “You sitting as far away from me as you can, and me trying to figure out why.”

Jin’s never brought the silence up before. He’s always just laughed his way through it, barely acknowledging when Kame flinches away from his touch like it burns, and letting Kame slowly withdraw from him as their rare nights together run their course. Kame always lets out a tiny relieved sigh when Jin stands in the hallway slipping into his shoes, hands shoved awkwardly in his pockets

But tonight, _tonight_ , Jin seems on edge. There had been something wild in his eyes, and when Kame had pulled away from the casual brush of Jin’s arm against his own, escaping to the other side of the sofa, Jin had shriveled up, like he is right now, knotted around himself and obscuring his face from Kame’s view. 

“It’s not your fault,” Kame says, and he examines the beds of his fingernails, where a bit of black polish lingers. He’ll be on _Going!_ tomorrow, so earlier he’d half-heartedly taken acetone to them, but little flecks are still visible on the thumb and index finger of his right hand, where he’d hastily rubbed the cotton pad across them as Jin had rung the doorbell, because he can’t leave things unfinished. “I’m trying my best.”

“It’s only me, though,” Jin says. “It’s only me that makes you run away.” Jin’s mouth becomes visible over the gray knit of his sweater, and the skin on his lips is dry. Kame turns away. “Not Koki, or Nakamaru, or any of those baseball players. It’s me. Only me.”

Kame doesn’t have to see Jin’s face to know the expression on it. He’s had years and years to memorize the tilt of Jin’s brow and the way his jaw gets tight when he’s confused or afraid. He’s had a lifetime to know the way his eyelashes shutter when he’s disappointed or sad. Jin’s face is probably a study of all these things right now, and Kame wonders why everything has to be so damn difficult. 

“You’ve always been special,” Kame says, and he chances a look over at Jin, and Jin’s eyes are like coffee, warm and dark and sending electricity through Kame’s veins. His hair falls into his face, soft and a little frizzy, and Kame’s fingers itch to push it back and bare Jin’s thicker brows and the perfect bridge of his nose. Kame loves Jin’s nose.

Kame loves Jin, in general.

Suddenly Jin is on his side of the couch, in his personal space, long thigh pushed against Kame’s shorter one, and Jin’s face far too close to his own. “How am I special?” Jin asks, and Kame’s breath is coming too shallow, and his heart is beating so fast, so very fast, that he’s not entirely sure it’s not about to crack his ribs with its ferocity. “What can I do to make this work?”

Kame is trapped between the arm of the sofa and Jin, and there’s not really anywhere for him to go, anyway. Jin’s got that look in his eyes, and it’s the look that means that Jin’s going to get his solo tour or that Kame’s going to wake up and listen to him talk on the phone for hours about making an American music video even though for Kame it’s four o’clock in the morning. It’s the look that means Jin doesn’t want to give up on something, and even though it’s inciting a panic that quivers and twists in Kame’s belly, it’s also making him warm with pleasure, because it means that for Jin, Kame is important. 

Kame swallows, and hesitates.

Jin looks nervous. There’s nothing self-assured in his movements. There is only a grim sort of determination as he wraps his fingers around Kame’s wrist and tugs, like he used to do when they were both nothing but children and Jin was dragging him to come and play. “Kame, tell me,” Jin says, and it’s almost a whine, and Jin’s fingers are almost unbearable hot on his skin, and Kame feels almost helpless to that pleading gaze. 

“It’s not the same,” Kame says, and Jin tilts his head to the side, his glasses fogging up from Kame’s breath. Even in a situation like this, where Kame knows that if he gives the wrong answer, Jin might walk out of his apartment and out of his life, it makes him want to laugh, because Jin looks so young with his steamy glasses and mussed wavy hair. “Touching you is different from touching Koki. Different from teasing Nakamaru.”

It’s always been different. Kame’s always felt all sorts of things around Jin he wasn’t supposed to feel. Things so obvious the newspapers reported on them and Kame tried to bury his embarrassment in alcohol and cold shoulders.

Kame reaches forward and snags the frames, and Jin’s hand slips from his wrist and down to his thigh in a gesture that might have been casual when they were teens but now feels far too intimate. “What? I can only apologize so many times before-”

“Why do you wear these?” Kame asks, examining the frames. He owns a pair just like them that he wears to make denim jumpsuits more interesting, or to add interest to an outfit. Jin doesn’t make outfits when he’s not on the job. “You’ve got contacts in, so why are you wearing these glasses?”

“They make me feel safe,” Jin answers. “You know that. Like the hats.” Jin’s mouth fumbles over the words, and it’s like he’d forgotten all the words he wants to say right before he opened his mouth.

“Not touching you makes me feel safe,” Kame says. “Having space between us makes me feel safe.”

Jin sighs, and lets his head fall to Kame’s shoulder. Jin’s hair is as soft as it looks, and it tickles his jaw, and Kame wants to run his fingers through it, and to ease the look of uncertainty that he’d seen moments ago in Jin’s eyes. Kame doesn’t really know how to do that anymore, though, because keeping his distance from Jin is sometimes the only thing that keeps him sane. 

“Is it because you’re afraid I’m going to disappear again?” Jin asks quietly, and it breaks Kame’s heart a little to hear that sort of hopeless regret in Jin’s tone. The two years of quiet from Jin as he thrived on the other side of the ocean had been awful, but Kame’d been okay. Kame’d at least been safe from the things he wanted, then. “Because I’m not. I’m not going to go that far away ever again.” Jin isn’t talking about a space that can be measured in miles or kilometers. They both know that.

“It’s not that I’m afraid you’ll go too far away,” Kame says softly, and Jin stills, holding his breath like he’s afraid he’s going to miss something that Kame says. “It’s that I’m afraid you’ll come too close.”

“Too close?” Jin says, pulling back and leaning against the back of the couch, studying Kame with confused eyes. He bites his bottom lip, worrying at it in a way that just makes Kame want to stare at his full mouth, lower lip trapped between recently bleached teeth. “Kame, what’s too close, for us?” Jin fingers find the seam of Kame’s jeans, at the knee, and toy with it, in the way Kame always sees him doing with his own trousers. Kame’s throat feels dry, and he wonders what Jin will say if Kame tells him the truth. 

He wonders if Jin really will leave if he finds out that Kame, more than anything, wants to lean forward and claim his mouth. “Everything,” Kame says, and it’s the most he can say. It’s definitely the most he can admit, and maybe it’ll be enough for Jin. “Everything is too close.”

He lets his eyes fall closed, then, and Jin’s hand is still on his knee, and Jin doesn’t make a sound. All that means is that Kame can hear the sound of his heart echoing in his ears, like the heavy rain of monsoon season as it pours and pours in a humid Tokyo August. 

“I’m not sure if I understand,” Jin says. “Because… I’m not always the best at… you know, figuring things like this out.” Kame, despite himself, chuckles, and he opens his eyes to see Jin staring at him. Jin’s cheeks are red, and his lips are redder, because he’s bitten them until now they are swollen. But that look still shimmers in his eyes, and Kame wonders what it is that Jin’s so determined to do. “But if I’m wrong, can you _please_ not punch me in the face?”

And Kame barely has time to register that Jin’s moving forward again before Jin mashes a kiss onto Kame’s unsuspecting lips. It’s awkward, awkward like Jin, and their noses crush together, and it’s brief. Too brief for Kame to get his bearings before it’s over. Then Jin is pulling back abashedly, and Kame, in shock, licks his lips. “Jin?” 

Jin narrows his eyes and looks at Kame hard, like Kame is a particularly challenging book in English that Jin’s steeled himself to read, which is funny, because Kame’s sure that everything he’s feeling now must be transparent there for Jin to read: surprise, confusion, pleasure, hope. 

Whatever Jin _does_ see, it’s all he needs to slide both hands into Kame’s hair and move so close that each exhale blows Kame’s lashes, which still have a thick layer of mascara caked on them from shooting another Lamdash CM. 

“I’m glad I’m not wrong,” Jin says, and Kame knows he should pull back, or pinch himself so he can _wake up_ , but he can’t. He can’t bring himself to do anything but look at Jin incredulously as Jin smiles in that lopsided way that reminds Kame of being childish and innocent and naïve, and of thinking that Jin had single-handedly hung the moon. 

Kame sometimes still thinks that, but it’s only on the days he lets himself think about Jin in the first place. 

“Jin, I…” And Kame’s not sure how it is that Jin has all these words and Kame doesn’t have any words at all, when it’s usually the other way around, but there’s… no point in wondering, not when Jin is sharing his air and making Kame feel like he’s not sure if he’s going to melt or throw up. “I…”

“It’s a good thing, “ Jin says, and Kame’s eyes find Jin’s mole, which always looks like a freckle from far away but is round and lovely and uneven up-close, and Kame might be biased but he finds it fascinating, just like every other part of Jin. “Because with the size of the muscles in your arms these days, I might have gotten hurt.” His voice is teasing, but there’s that stubborn note there, too, the one Kame recognizes from a time where Jin stood outside his flat for six and a half hours just waiting for Kame to finally give up and let him in to talk. 

That had been six months ago, and Kame had never imagined then that Jin would be turning his body so he’s kneeling between Kame’s legs, and pressing closer for contact. 

“I love your nose,” Jin says, and then he drops a kiss straight to the bump, like he’s sealing his words with it, and Kame’s heart flutters, just a bit. Jin then proceeds to flutters soft kisses on his eyelids and cheeks, and across the moles by his mouth, before he finally, _finally_ , again presses full lips to Kame’s mouth, and Kame melts into it, because Jin is kissing him; because Jin _wants_ to kiss him, and there’s nothing better for Kame than that.

Dreams are something Kame’s familiar with, but having them come true in a way that’s even better than he could have ever imagined is certainly not, and the shy advance of Jin’s tongue into his mouth is sweeter, Kame thinks, than it had seemed in his head. 

Jin licks into his mouth all slow and steady and hot, and the best part is how sure he seems. “You don’t know how long I wanted… I thought it was just me,” Jin says into Kame’s parted lips, and Kame tentatively reaches up and runs his hand through Jin’s hair, just once, careful not to catch on any knots that might linger in the back near the base of Jin’s skull where he always neglects to comb. 

“No,” Kame breathes, and pulls Jin closer. “Not just you.” 

Jin just makes this tiny sigh and kisses him again, angling his mouth to the side for better access and Jin tastes like curry, and faintly like the two cigarettes he stepped onto Kame’s balcony to smoke at seven. Jin tastes like nostalgia too; like a hundred times Kame never kissed him even though Jin had been so close it’d hurt. 

“That’s good,” Jin says, dragging his mouth from Kame’s and sloppily kissing his way across Kame’s cheek, finding his earlobe and pulling it between his teeth. Kame gasps as Jin licks up the shell of Kame’s ear, leaving behind a wetness on Kame’s skin that reminds him that he’s been meaning to turn up the heat. It might be, he figures, that it’s just anywhere that Jin isn’t touching is cold in comparison to the feverish heat where he does. “That’s… really good.”

And then Jin’s hands are sliding under his shirt, and Kame’s not wearing a big sweater like Jin is, just a long-sleeved t-shirt with skulls and… it doesn’t matter, he guesses, because Jin is pulling it up and off, and Kame half sits up, tensing his abs until he’s shed it, and Jin’s forgotten glasses clank on the floor too when the shirt is thrown there.

Kame is gentle, barely touching Jin’s shoulders as Jin stares down at him in a way Kame had never expected to see in this lifetime.

It’s easy for Kame to remember, now, that Jin is not made of glass, because Jin doesn’t break when Kame digs his nails into Jin’s biceps through layers of knit, he just lets out a low whining sound and curls his tongue around Kame’s left nipple, lathing it with a few wide strokes and then catching it with his lips and teeth. It make Kame want to crawl out of his skin, but somehow he manages to hold mostly still, even though his hips buck up seeking friction. Jin’s on his knees on either side of Kame’s hips, and Kame can feel Jin’s erection when denim brushes denim. 

“When I was a kid,” Jin says. “I used to think there was something wrong with my nipples.” Jin switches to the right, and Kame’s having trouble following what Jin is talking about, because his pulse is so quick and loud, and because Jin’s hands are teasing a steady pattern up his sides, thumbs circling across his ribs and down to his abdomen. “Because they didn’t look anything like yours, and everyone thought everything about you was perfect.”

“No one thought anything I did was perfect when we were kids, Jin,” Kame gasps, as Jin blows hot air where he’s wet Kame’s skin. “I was the ugly one, remember?”

“Mmm,” Jin hums into Kame’s stomach, where he’s pressing soft kisses along the abs he finds there, lips so hot and wet on Kame’s already tingling flesh. “Maybe it was just me who thought everything about you was perfect.”

And then Jin is licking a circle around Kame’s navel, index fingers hooking in Kame’s belt loops, and Kame is dragged down a little, so his neck is braced on the arm of the sofa. Jin crawls back up, slowly, and Kame can feel the wool of Jin’s sweater against his bare flesh and it scratches and Kame wishes it was skin. Jin’s mouth comes down over his own again, and Kame fists his hands in the material, and Jin’s noises, the softest, sweetest little sighs, make Kame feel like nothing has ever been more wonderful than this. 

“Can I…” Jin starts to ask, and Kame doesn’t know what the question is, but he’s never been able to deny Jin anything.

“Yes,” he says, and then Jin is hoisting him up, and Kame wonders, for a moment, if his knees are going to hold, but they do, and he lets his head fall into the crook of Jin’s neck.

“I guess this is different,” Jin says, and his breath blows strands of Kame’s hair, and Kame can’t resist tasting the little bit of skin accessible above the collar of Jin’s heavy knit. “I mean, you’d better not touch Koki or Nakamaru like this.”

Kame chuckles, and Jin’s arms slide around his bare waist, pulling him closer. “This isn’t fair,” Kame mumbles, plucking at Jin’s sweater, and Jin starts laughing too. 

“Neither is not being honest with me,” Jin replies. “Neither is letting me think you’re never going to forgive me for… you know, what happened.”

“I know,” Kame says, and he does know. But he’d never imagined that Jin would even…

“If we’re going to be friends,” Jin says, and he runs his hands up Kame’s back, letting smooth palms linger on shoulder blades and the joints of Kame’s spine. “You’re going to have to tell me things, because you know I can’t figure them out.”

“Friends?” Kame asks, and it’s wry but there’s a note of questioning there too, and Jin hears it.

“Or,” Jin says, dropping his arms and stepping back, shedding his sweater with a tug over his head and leaving his hair in even greater disarray than before. “You know, not-friends.”

And there’s the nervousness Kame always associates with Jin, that look like Jin’s not sure if he’s saying the right thing, or if someone’s going to get mad at him if he stumbles. 

Kame’s not going to get mad, though, even if not-friends is the stupidest thing he’s heard in a while. Because not-friends, for him and Jin, well… if it means that Jin’s going to slowly walk backward until he’s leaning against the wall next to the door of Kame’s bedroom and shyly bite his lip like he thinks Kame would, in any world, not walk forward and join him.

Jin’s skin is hot, when Kame finally gets to touch it, and Jin’s shaky inhale of breath makes Kame feel stupid for keeping it all bottled up inside like it was going to go away. Jin’s perfect smile and soft eyes, and Jin’s laugh and Jin’s floppy hair and Jin’s long limbs… Those things are never going to go away, and nothing Kame could do would ever make those things less wondrous, less _necessary_ to Kame than they are right now.

The brush of chest against chest as Jin kisses him is better, somehow, than Kame had thought it would be. Jin’s skin is slick with perspiration, probably from the warmth of his sweater, and Kame doesn’t know where to put his hands, because he’s so used to not allowing himself to touch that now he doesn’t really know what’s okay.

“Anywhere is fine,” Jin says softly. “If it’s you, it’s fine.”

“Right,” Kame says, and he settles his hands on Jin’s hips, along the elastic waistband of his briefs that sit above the top of his low-slung jeans. “Okay.”

Jin tugs Kame back against him, so Jin is trapped between Kame and the door, and Jin’s mouth is demanding, like he wants to memorize the taste of Kame’s lips and the insides of Kame’s cheeks, and the way Kame shivers when Jin glides along his teeth. 

Kame is happy to let Jin have whatever he wants.

What Jin wants, it seems, is to drag Kame back into Kame’s bedroom and throw Kame down on the bed. Jin crawls on top of him like an overeager puppy, and Kame feels so young all of a sudden, and like the way Jin is looking down on him, smiling with those glistening eyes, is something from another time or another place. But some things make it clear that this is now, and not then, like the way Jin’s hands tremble as he once again maps his way across Kame’s torso, or the way Kame doesn’t even think of reaching out and touching Jin’s collarbones. 

“I want to…” Jin starts to say, and then he purses his mouth, and Kame wants to hold him close, and feel Jin’s heart beating against his own. Jin has other plans, it seems, fingers finding the button to Kame’s jeans and undoing it, followed by the zipper. Then he pulls that and Kame’s underwear down to mid-thigh with a single yank, and Kame swallows at how exposed he feels, cock erect and laying flush against his stomach. He averts his eyes, but then Jin is wrapping a hand around him, and Kame feels all the air leave his lungs in a single breath. 

“Jin,” Kame chokes out, and Jin‘s hand tightens, and Kame fights to keep his eyes open. It’s worth it, in the end, because the Jin is venturing a tiny lick to the crown, and the strange look on his face is enough to make Kame want to laugh and shatter at the same time. “You don’t have to-“

“I want to,” Jin says. “All this time, and you never once asked me what I wanted.” And then he’s wrapping his lips around Kame’s cock, red and swollen lips and cheeks puffing from the effort. Kame clenches his fist into the bed sheets, and he’s thinking a thousand things at once. How he’d like to slip his hands into Jin’s hair, or how he’s glad he’d shaved down there for Bem, or how maybe he needs new sheets because these ones don’t feel as soft as they used to in his grasp, but maybe nothing will ever feel soft again in comparison to what it feels like inside Jin’s mouth. 

Jin pulls away, and Kame whines, and then flushes, because that’s not a sound Kame makes. But it’s hard to feel embarrassed when he sees the thin strand of saliva that connects Jin’s mouth to his dick, or the way Jin’s eyes are trained on Kame’s every reaction. “I’m sorry,” Kame says, and he pries one hand from its death grip and searches for Jin’s. When he finds it, Jin laces their fingers together. “I thought…”

“This is time,” Jin says, and Kame can feel Jin’s pulse now too, where their palms are pressed together. “This is effort.” He licks a stripe up the underside of Kame’s cock, and Kame’s hips rise from the bed, seeking more, but Jin moves back, and presses his other hand to Kame’s hip. “I have those things for you. Didn’t you ever wonder why?”

And then Jin slides up his body, and his cock, wet and slick from Jin’s mouth, is pressing between his stomach and Jin’s, and Jin is kissing him, and this kiss… maybe this is the best one, because Jin’s putting everything in it, and Kame can feel the hardness of Jin’s dick through the denim of his jeans, hot and heavy against Kame’s thigh, and Jin wants Kame, and maybe Jin has always wanted Kame, like Kame has always wanted Jin, and Kame is stupid. Kame is stupid, and it doesn’t matter, because they can both be stupid together. 

Kame’s slips hands into Jin’s jeans, seeking his cock, and when he finds it, Jin moans into his mouth. Kame swallows the sound, and Jin thrusts shallowly downward into Kame’s grip, and Kame doesn’t have to unbutton Jin’s jeans to shove them down. 

“So there are advantages to your hobo-fashion,” Kame whispers, and Jin shuts him up with a roll of his hips that leaves them both a little breathless. Kame lets his hand fall from Jin’s erection, and Jin takes over, bringing his hips down into Kame’s with tiny thrusts that mimic fucking, and Kame’s body tingles down to his toes.

“Do you have…?” Jin’s words trail off, and Kame knows what he’s asking, and the answer is obviously yes. Kame darts his eyes toward his bedside table, and Jin reaches a long arm over and finds the lube easily, and then he’s distracting Kame with more kisses and soft touches.

Kame wonders if Jin is going to fuck him. 

Jin fumbles with the lube cap, and Kame reaches up and helps him, untwisting it with fingers that barely shake, and Jin looks down at him, and Kame knows this expression too. It’s the one that means Jin’s about to do his first interview as a solo artist, or Jin is about to say something he isn’t sure Kame is going to like.

Kame squeezes Jin’s hand. “I’m not moving away from you,” Kame says, and then Jin squirts a bit of lube on his fingers, and gets on his knees. Kame likes the way Jin’s hair falls into his face and the way Jin feels so solid and real above him. “Jin,” Kame says, and Jin swallows, and licks his lips, and his lube-slicked hand disappears between them.

Kame waits for the touch of Jin’s fingers, but it doesn’t come, and then Jin’s breath is hitching, and Kame realizes that Jin has slid a finger into himself. Kame can’t see Jin’s hand, but he can see Jin’s face, eyes shut and jaw clenched as he stretches himself. Kame’s free hand explores the front of Jin’s chest, and lingers along his sternum, and traces veins up Jin’s neck as he watches the tiny sighs and gasps as Jin touches himself inside. 

Jin opens his eyes and looks down at Kame, and Jin can change his hair and his clothes and how he acts in public… He can change all those things, but Jin can’t change the way his heart sits in his eyes, and Kame can see it there, beating quick and strong and sure. “I’m not going to pull away,” Kame says again, and Jin smiles and then whimpers, those breathy sounds that Kame remembers from when Jin sings, but sound so much better here, like this. 

“Good,” Jin says. “That’s good,” and then Jin’s smearing lube along Kame’s cock.

When Jin’s seated fully on top of him, Kame trembles with the effort of holding still as Jin adjusts, wriggling just a little to make himself comfortable before he’s moving slow and hesitant. 

The world around Kame slowly fades away as he focuses in on the way Jin is surrounding him, the way Jin leans forward so his hair brushes Kame’s neck and the way sweat drips from his skin with every downward movement. 

Kame brings his hands up to Jin’s face and cradles his jaw, and Jin’s half-lidded eyes catch his, and there’s nothing between them now. “No glasses,” Jin pants. “No hats.”

“No distance,” Kame replies, and he flexes upward to kiss Jin, to let their tongues tangle for a minute before he can’t stay upward like that anymore, not with the way his muscles are turning to jelly from the tight heat of Jin clenching around him. 

Kame feels himself getting close, and fumbles for Jin’s erection, and when his fingers curl around it, Jin almost sobs, and it’s a sound that makes Kame’s grip a little surer, and a little faster. 

He waits until he feels Jin spill across his stomach before he lets go, and when he comes spinning back into himself, Jin is slumped atop him, and Kame wraps arms around him, relishing the way Jin is so close and he doesn’t have to be afraid he’ll give everything away.

There’s nothing left to give away now, because Jin knows his biggest secret. “I’ll never get the dried curry off those bowls,” Kame whispers, and Jin’s still, and then he laughs, recklessly. 

“They’ll probably smell like cumin forever,” Jin agrees. “Was it worth it, you think?” And Jin’s face is open before him, and Kame can see the flickers of doubt in Jin’s gaze, like he thinks Kame, who’s still softening inside of him, is going to rate a pair of ceramic bowls higher than the man he’s been in love with for half his life.

“Obviously,” Kame says, and then his thumbs reach up and flick across Jin’s nipples. Jin licks his lips. “You know, when I was a kid, I thought everything about you was perfect, too.”

“And now?” Jin asks, leaning forward and resting his forehead in the hollow of Kame’s shoulder and throat, nuzzling the vein he finds there. 

“I know better,” Kame says. “But I think all your imperfections make you better.”

“I’ll do the dishes,” Jin says, and that’s how Kame knows Jin loves him back.

**Author's Note:**

> Thought experiment that came from a discussion with threewalls that may have gone slightly awry. So. Jin topping. >.>


End file.
